Haunted
by Ginny Westwood
Summary: After the mess of last year's game, Seneca Crane intends to make this one as interesting as possible. On top of twenty-four fresh and youthful tributes, Seneca is dealing with the previous head gamemaker's disappearance, the mysterious presence of a teenage girl, a new an exotic arena, and perhaps a twinkle of rebellion. Welcome to the seventy-first hunger games. SYOT closed.
1. Tribute Form

**Here is the form to fill out. You can submit four tributes max, and not first come, first serve.**

* * *

Name:

District:

Backup district: (you might want it to be similar to the original district)

Age: (I can't have twenty eighteen-year olds)

Gender:

Personality:

Backstory:

Appearance: (nothing unrealistic. Nobody has green hair, or purple eyes)

Family: (name and age, please, and a little about them so I'm not writing in the dark)

Friends: (same as before)

Girlfriend/boyfriend: (optional)

Crush: (please don't do this one unless they will actually come into the story)

Reaped/volunteered:

Reaction to reaping:

Reason for volunteering:

Reaping outfit:

Token: (optional)

What do they do during training?: (not everyone can make it to all the stations)

Allies:

Parade outfit idea:

Interview outfit:

Interview angle:

What did they do for their private session?:

Score: (outer districts rarely get higher than a seven or eight)

Bloodbath strategy:

Games strategy: (give me more detail than just "hide")

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Anything else?:

* * *

 **Thank you! And please note that you may not get your requested allie. It's okay to just say which personalities your tribute likes, and I can pair your tribute according to that.**


	2. Submissions

Submissions:

D1F: 1 submission

D1M: 1 submission

D2F: 1 submission

D2M: 1 submission

D3F: 1 submission

D3M: 1 submission

D4F: 1 submission

D4M: 1 submission

D5F: 1 submission

D5M: 1 submission

D6F: 1 submission

D6M: 1 submission

D7F: 1 submission

D7M: 1 submission

D8F: 1 submission

D8M: 1 submission

D9F: 1 submission

D9M: 1 submission

D10F: 1 submission

D10M: 1 submission

D11F: 1 submission

D11M: 1 submission

D12F: 1 submission

D12M: 1 submission


	3. Arena Hint 1

I punch in a few numbers to the computer. "Okay there, Seneca?" my co-worker, Trisha, asks. I nod, stroking my beard a little.

"Have you ever seen a wild cat before?" I ask Trisha. She takes out a sketchbook and pencil.

"No."

"They're a lot like domestic cats, only bigger," I say. "You didn't work here six years ago, did you?" Trisha shakes her head. I pull up an image from a hunger games several years ago. It's a mutt that never quite made it into the games. It's a tiger-leopard mix, with razor-sharp claws.

"Try something like this, only smaller, and more agile," I say.

"And the claws?" Trisha asks. I stare at the image for a while.

"Sharper. Smaller, but sharper. They should only be active during the day. No one wants to see a tribute die in their sleep."

"Right," Trisha says, scribbling down a few notes. She draws an outline of the animal, then moves off to her desk.

I stay staring at the arena. It's almost done, just a few finishing touches are needed. I feel stress pressing in on me at all times. Stress to make these games more and more interesting. I almost want to stop. Just leave it at what it is. Take a day off.

I pull up the cameras in last year's arena. A bland desert with a few lava pools everyone easily avoided. It was uninteresting. It's not up for exploring, as most old arenas are. President Snow said that's because the lava pools were still active and therefore dangerous, but I know the real reason. I look at this every single time I feel the urge to stop. It's a reminder of what happened to the last person who failed President Snow.

It takes me a while to find her corpse. But eventually I do. Her eyes are frozen wide open, her red hair deteriorating against her scalp. Her once beautiful body is covered in ants, left to the wild forever.

Ariana May was killed by her own arena.

* * *

 **Here's just a little of Seneca's POV, and a few hints on the arena. Rememember, three tributes max. You can PM me, or just submit one in the reviews. Thanks! And as always, please read and review.**


	4. Arena Hint 2

**Daphne Mellard, Architect Gamemaker**

I stare wistfully at the map in front of me. Such a beautiful arena. A mix of wilderness and buildings, in a way I've never seen before. Such a beautiful mix. After Seneca got his hands on an old book series his head has been overflowing with ideas. I almost wish I could be in the arena. However, I'm not very athletic, and I would want to survive.

My gaze swivels over to the head architect gamemaker and turns into a glare. Dirk Mellard, my brother. He's a porky man with shaggy red hair, and a large over-hanging belly. I hate him. He's a selfish bastard with no communication skills and no brains whatsoever. I was offered the post of the head architect gamemaker, but I turned it down. I'm not much of a leader. So it was decided that Dirk, as a relative of mine, must also be smart, and he instead was given the position. Every time I offer a suggestion he'll scoff at me and I have to bite my tongue so I don't yell at him that it was _me_ who was offered his post.

"Daphne?" I whip around.

"Yes, Mr. Crane?"

"You've been working here longer than I have, Daphne. It's perfectly okay to call me Seneca."

"Would you like something?"

"Yes. I would, in fact. Come with me."

Seneca heads towards the doorway. I stand up and follow him. He leads me into the hall, and then turns into the control room. He jabs a button and a larger map of the arena is projected onto a screen.

"This, Daphne, is a detailed version of the arena," Seneca says. I look at it. "Do you see a problem?"

"No, Seneca. It looks lovely," I say. Seneca sighs. "But may I ask, what do you plan to do with those tiger mutts?"

"Put them here." Seneca points to where they will go. I expected that, but it's always nice to know for sure. "Daphne, there is a room missing in this arena."

"Is there?"

Seneca fiddles with a few buttons, and suddenly one of his ideas joins the arena. I stare at it.

"This room, Daphne, is a very special room," Seneca says. I nod.

"Because it changes."

"Exactly." Seneca continues to explain the room to me, and all I can do is stare. I've never seen anything like this. This is truly a unique arena.

"Can you add that, Daphne?" Seneca asks me. I nod, still mystified. And then one thing dawns on me.

"Why are you telling me? Why not Dirk?" Seneca comes so close I can smell his chicken breath.

"Because I trust you to get this done, Daphne. And plus, your brother isn't exactly the brightest bulb in the batch." I smile at that statement. "Let us walk back."

He takes my arm and we slip back into the hallway. We re-enter the gamemaker's station and take our seats as if nothing happened. I stare at the map in front of me, then at Dirk. A grin spreads across my face. He's in for a nasty surprise.

* * *

 **So this is more of a filler chapter than anything else. If it's not that great, I'm sorry. I** **just really need more submissions. I'm planning on starting the story in about a month, so some of the tributes might be my own.**

 **On that lovely note, please submit.**


	5. Notice

**ONE WEEK UNTIL SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED!**

 **I really appreciate anybody that submitted a tribute. If I don't have enough submissions by the time I start with the reaping, I will fill in the empty spaces with my own tributes.**

 **So basically just remember to submit if you were planning to. In ONE WEEK submissions will be closed.**

 **~Ginny**


	6. Tribute List

**Hero Jacks, Head Mutation Gamemaker**

"Do you know the tributes' fears yet?" Lilith asks. I turn to look at her. She's the newest and youngest worker, at age fifteen, and she has no talent whatsoever.

"Lilith, can you tell me how I am supposed to know twenty-four tributes' worst nightmares by how they walk onto a stage?" I ask. Lilith blushes.

"You can tell by what district they're from."

I turn in my chair until I'm facing her head-on. Lilith joined us one month ago. She never speaks of her past much, only saying that her parents can't take care of her. Seneca managed to find out that she didn't have parents, but several people said she had been hanging around for the past year and a half. It's possible she escaped from the districts, but no one claims to know her. And she has good ideas, she just can't figure out how to execute them.

"Do you have the tribute list?" I ask. Lilith nods and hands me a sheet. I spread it out on the table and read it through. I may know a fair amount of these people.

District 1

Female: Cashmere Ametrine

Male: Paris Springfield

District 2

Female: Viola Xiang

Male: Adalis Greke

District 3

Female: Pixel Wire

Male: Luis Panelli

District 4

Female: Selina Prats

Male: Jasper Coffin

District 5

Female: Ellia Jamson

Male: Isaac Kellin

District 6

Female: Carter Jones

Male: Cooper Magstadt

District 7

Female: Catrina Keelan

Male: Grover Smiths

District 8

Female: Cajsa Varis

Male: Luxe Dramen

District 9

Female: Jayli Brank

Male: Iosef Steelbright

District 10

Female: Corinna Amyla

Male: Jasper MIdas

District 11

Female: Applliona Hart

Male: Baldric Gram

District 12

Female: Alyssa Collier

Male: Ash Waterstead

* * *

 **So there are the tribute! If you submitted one before May 1st, and they're not on the list, pm me and we'll work something out. Thanks for understanding!**

 **~Ginny**


	7. District 1 Reaping

**Cashmere** **Ametrine, age 18**

I wondered if my mom would be home when I woke up.

She wasn't. She never is. I think she knows I'm volunteering this year. She might care. I think she loves me, she just doesn't ever notice me.

I stretch and go downstairs. Midas, my...useless...twin brother is already awake. When I say useless, I mean he's a businessman, like my parents. He's the pride and joy of their life. I sigh. There's nothing wrong with businessmen, I just wish someone in the family, besides me, could have a little bit of skill. Maybe they could, you know, swing a sword.

I eat breakfast silently before changing into my reaping outfit, a white sundress. I hook an anklet around my, well, ankle. I've had it since I was twelve, and it has an owl charm on it.

Outside my friend Cyrus is waiting for me. Unlike me, he has blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, but our personalities are the same. Quiet, introverted, and our family situations are similar. He's gay, but I've only met his boyfriend once.

We walk in silence to the reaping. They're staggered throughout the day so a Capitol person can watch them all live. District one is at nine in the morning. Cyrus and I arrive there at eight fifty, so we have some time to kill. District one isn't known for being early. Most people will arrive at nine on the money.

Cyrus sits on the curb, silently tying and untying his shoelaces. He's acting like he misses...someone. I stand next to him. In front of me, two boys are arguing. Immediately I recognize one of them. The tall, curly-haired boy. His name is Denali, and he's going to be my district partner this year. We've gone against each other in the academy a few times, and as far as I know, we're pretty evenly matched. We both have fraternal twins. Mine is Midas. I guess Denali's is the boy he's arguing with.

"...chose me for a reason," Denali is saying.

"Because you're from the public academy! That one always comes first!" the other boy says.

"It comes first because it turns out better people," Denali says, which I can't help but agree with. His brother opens his mouth to argue, but at that moment, the whistle saying "only five minutes until the reaping" sounds. The brothers notice me eavesdropping and move away.

When nine o'clock finally comes after twenty years of waiting (for some reason the city clock only says five minutes), I leave Cyrus to line up with the other eighteen-year olds. Our escort, a bubblegum-pink man, follows our mayor and victors onto the stage. The mayor reads all six billion pages of the rebellion decree thingy before finally allowing the escort to begin the reaping.

He reaps the female tribute first, and I really enjoy the fact that he doesn't have any suspense at all. He doesn't take seven years to grab a slip of paper or anything.

He finally decides it will be a good idea to read the name. "Ruby Chase."

A girl my age walks to the stage. She's not even nervous. She knows I'm going to volunteer. Our escort (still don't know his name) asks for volunteers.

"I volunteer," I say, pushing to the front of the crowd. I switch places with Ruby, and a small smile appears on my face. I'm going to finally leave my brother's shadow.

* * *

 **Paris Springfield, age 18**

Cashmere tells the escort her name, all confident and stuff. I should be up there next to her. I deserve it more than Denali.

Time to rewind a bit. Denali is my fraternal twin. We used to live in victor's village with our dad, Hale, and our mom, Valour, who was a victor. Then she died of cancer when Denali and I were nine, and we had to move back to our old house near the town square. Denali and I kind of decided that we both wanted to be the one to bring the fame back to our family, so we started training 24/7. He trained at the public academy, and I trained at the private one. Somehow, in the end, we were still the same skill level. And there was this huge argument between the two academies over who should volunteer. But since the mayor personally funded the public academy, he intervened and demanded that Denali would be the volunteer.

Our escort, Leto, moves on to the male's reaping bowl. This time he's a little faster in picking the name. When he opens it to read, however, his jaw drops and he lets out a little squeal.

"Denali Springfield."

My jaw drops open too, but I quickly snap it shut. Denali moves from my side with a smirk on his face, as if he's reminding me that even fate wants him in the games. He's being as stupid and naïve as ever.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell, shoving Denali out of the way. There's a long silence in which the entire audience seems to hold its breath. Then Denali retaliates with a punch.

"Excuse me, sir," Leto pipes up. "You can't refuse a volunteer." Cashmere frowns onstage.

"I know the rules," Denali growls. He brushes past me, muttering, "you _will_ pay for this."

I stalk up on stage and grab Cashmere's hand. She surveys me with light gray eyes, as if she's reading my mind. Leto announces us the tributes before we do a single shake and go our separate ways.

The first person who comes into the room is not my brother (no surprise there). It's my girlfriend Victoria and her brother, Closs.

"You did it!" Closs says, clapping me on the back. "That bastard got wrecked." I smile. That's one way of putting it. Then I notice Victoria frowning in the corner.

"What's up?" I ask.

"You shouldn't have done it," she says. "The Capitol is never going to let you win now."

"Sure it will!" I say. "The Capitol will love a rebel!" As soon as I say it, I realize how wrong I sound. The Capitol hates rebels. But I'm different, right? I'm not exactly rebelling. They'll love me.

Victoria apparently doesn't think so. She snorts, then mutters, "I still like you", before marching out the door, leaving me alone with Closs.

* * *

 **Well, meet this year's district one tributes! Their creators will remain a mystery for now, but it's not against the rules to announce it if you created one. Here are my questions:**

 **Which one do you like more?**

 **Who do you think will last longer?**

 **Thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!**

 **~Ginny**


	8. District 2 Reaping

**Viola Xiang, age 17**

My house is quite average. Maybe even small, at least for district two standards. It's the yard that counts. I like sitting in it. Just sitting, calculating, what not.

Reaping day brings mixed feelings, and sometimes even arguments, in my family. My dad loves the Capitol, so reaping day is somewhat of a celebration for him. That's where most, if not all, of the conflicted feelings in my family come from.

Back in my house, the lights spring to life as my mom wakes up, and I know it's time to get ready for the reaping. Inside, I find my sister, Melanie, at the stove. My mom is sipping coffee in her rocking chair, scrolling the house with her eyes for imperfections.

Melanie puts together a pancake breakfast and serves it when my dad comes up the stairs, his hair sleek and oiled back against his neck. We sit at the table and Mom starts passing around the butter.

"Were you okay out there?" Mom asks.

"No, I died a couple times," I say. Mom smiles at me.

"You and Melanie better get ready for the reaping. It starts at nine forty-five," she says. I nod and disappear into my room.

My room is small with a raised mattress smushed into one corner. The walls are filled with charts diagrams I've made, a few science theories, and some complicated math problems I'm trying to solve. Most of my school awards are cluttered on my desk, along with my homework. In my closet, on the highest shelf, is my reaping outfit. This year it's a baby-blue dress that's just a bit dusty.

Fifteen minutes later, I meet my friends in the town square. Lizzy, Alayna, and Kaden. I've been trying to get Kaden to see me as more than a friend for years now, but unfortunately, he decided it would be a good idea to get a different girlfriend. No idea where _she_ is right now.

We make it to the square at nine-forty. Kaden entertains Lizzy and Alayna. I start to get lost in thought.

I'm jerked back to the present when someone jabs me sharply on the shoulder. I turn to see Amaya, an Indian girl who is planning on volunteering this year. As far as I know, she's super competitive, and rather intelligent. She's always prided herself on being the smartest high schooler at our school. That is, until I beat her on three of our four end-of-year exams. She reported me for cheating, and I called her a lying bitch. As of now, I'm pretty sure she'd do anything to kill me, as long as she could get away with it.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Did you hear I'm volunteering?" she asks.

"Yes, I heard," I say. I think I know where this is going.

"They chose me for more than my skill with weaponry. They chose me because I can apply myself to any situation and think of a solution in seconds," Amaya says, smirking.

"Is that so?" I ask.

"It's more than that. They confirmed I'm by far the smartest at the school. Maybe even in the whole district. There was also a confirmation that you tend to cheat on tests."

"Right," I say, my voice dripping with more sarcasm than was probably needed. I turn away just as the reaping starts.

Mayor Zaender reads the The Rebellion Decree. Without meaning too, I memorized this my first year, so I notice when she skips a huge chunk of it (probably on purpose).

Pinny, our escort, starts the reaping. As always, "ladies first". She moves over to the reaping bowl, and my heart starts beating a thousand miles an hour, even though I know Amaya is going to volunteer.

"Viola Xiang," Pinny says in her high, nonchalant voice. My hearts seems to stop for a second, before it starts beating again and I start walking towards the stage. Oh, Amaya will be pleased to be able to prove her "superiority".

I stand on stage breathing in and out steadily. Pinny asks for volunteers. My eyes lock with Amaya, and a small smile plays across her lips. She's not going to do it.

I guess I was right when I said she would do anything to get me killed. And she can most certainly get away with this.

* * *

 **Adalis Greke, age 15**

"Are you ready yet?" Mom calls to me.

"Just a second!" I call back. I stare at myself in my diamond-encrusted mirror. Two days ago I dyed my hair eccentric blue to match the color Caesar had last year. It looks great on me. I fasten a tie to my chest and stride out of my room to the stern face of my mom. She swoops down on me and straightens my suit before standing up and examining me.

"Your clothes look nice, but your green is showing through," she says. 'Your green is showing through' is what my mom says when my contacts aren't strong enough. My eyes are naturally green, but both my parents say that isn't fashionable. Right now my contacts are teal. Probably greenish-teal because 'my green is showing through'.

"Sorry," I say. Mom sighs.

"I suppose we don't have time to switch them now. Just change as soon as we get home. Purple looks nice on you."

"Okay," I say. Mom offers me a smile.

"Good," she says. "Now chop-chop! Reaping starts in fifteen minutes."

I scurry down the stairs and onto our lawn. We have the largest house in district two. Even bigger than the mayor's. It's so nice. I like to feel important. I wish people would stare at me as I walked down the streets. Unfortunately, hardly anyone knows me. I was homeschooled. If anyone stares at me, I know it's because I look so much like a Capitol resident.

I arrive at the reaping seconds before Mayor Zaender reads our declaration. Once she finishes, Pinny taps her foot on the stage to get everyone's attention. I always love this part. It's so exciting. The hunger games are great.

Pinny fishes a name from the female's reaping bowl. "Viola Xiang". There's some shuffling around, and a tan girl climbs onto the stage. When Pinny asks for volunteers, there's more shuffling, but no one comes out. Huh. Weird.

Pinny dips her hand in the other bowl. One of the eighteen-year-olds starts to stand up straighter. He's going to volunteer.

"Adalis Greke."

I stand there stunned for a moment. Did she say my name? What's happening? I don't understand. I look around, trying to see if there's anyone else named "Adalis Greke". Everyone stares back at me. I gulp and slowly start to make my way towards the stage. As I'm climbing onto it, someone bursts out into laughter behind me. I look around. It's the same boy who was going to volunteer. I relax a little. He'll volunteer any moment now.

I get onstage and look at Pinny. She asks for volunteers, but the boy is still doubling over with laughter. A bit of worry is starting to build inside me. I can't go into the games, can I?

Apparently I can. I shake hands with Viola and am sentenced into the justice building. I start to shake. I'm gonna die.

The first (and only) people who visit me are my parents. My mom actually starts to cry and hugs me. I'm so surprised I almost fall over. Mom's never been anything but strict. Never.

Once Mom is done Dad comes over and sort of half-hugs me. The gesture is nice, I guess. He leaves before I can say much.

"Listen," Mom says, cupping my face in her hands. "You will come back. I demand it. How hard can it be, really? Your father has educated you well. You know why the Capitol children aren't in the games, right?"

"Because...they won the rebellion," I say.

"Because they would win easily, and that would be boring. But you're close enough to a Capitol child that you can win them _and_ make it interesting," my mom says.

"I'll try," I say. Honestly, I'm not sure how much my mom just encouraged me. I think _my_ answer to her question was more accurate.

"Listen, Honey," my mom says, pulling off her ring. She puts it in my hand and closes my fingers. "Take this ring for good luck. You can do it."

I nod and she leaves the room.

It's going to be so embarrassing when the non-careers are more career-like than the careers.

* * *

 **A pair of kind of unique tributes from District 2 (no volunteers!). Lots of thanks to the pelope who submitted them, and lots of thanks to my readers for, well, reading. Here are my questions:**

 **Who do you like more?**

 **Who do you think will last longer?**

 **What do you think of a career district with no volunteers?**

 **Again, thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!**

 **~Ginny**


	9. District 3 Reaping

**Pixel "Pixie" Wire, age 15**

It's reaping day. And I still have to go to school. District three is a great place.

It's not that I have anything against school. I just have a lot against the people there. I'm dyslexic, so reading the computers is like reading a two-year-old's attempted cursive. Basically impossible. I jog to school. Some people in district three can afford cars, and my family's genius. Buying a car would be no problem. But it's a nice day, and school's only a couple blocks away.

My friend Ali joins me on the way to school. He's a bit like me; athletic, sarcastic, but less of an outcast and less insecure. We walk in silence for a few meters before Ali offers to race me the rest of the way.

"Nah, I'm just gonna pass," I say. Then, I dash off towards school.

"Hey!" Ali yells, running after me.

I get there first (obviously) and dash in the front doors. People look at me as I run through the halls. Those who don't know me think I'm smart because my sister's a certified genius. Those who do, or at least, think they do, think I'm dumb because I'm dyslexic.

Screw you, dyslexia.

I stop in front of my locker, panting. Ali catches up to me. "Cheater!" he says.

"What? I never said that was a race," I say.

"So it wasn't?"

"No, it still was."

Ali rolls his eyes, then opens his locker and throws his backpack in. I pause with my bag. Then I throw it in my locker and leave Ali to go to history.

However much reaping day may suck, it has its advantages. One: school gets out early, so less people looking at me. Two: uh..nonexistent?

I sit through my history class in silence, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I walk through the school halls to my other classes hoping no one will notice me. It's the same thing, day after day. You'd think I'd be used to it now. It only gets worse.

School releases us one hour before the reaping starts. I don't see Ali around, so I walk home by myself. My energy is always drained at the end of the day. Even half days.

Mom greets me when I get home. "How was school today, honey?" she asks, taking my backpack

"Good," I lie. I've learned to say that every time, because anything else makes my mother want to help me, or something stupid like that.

"Great!" Mom says. "Now, why don't you go up to your room and change. I want to be at the reaping a quarter to twelve, and it takes about thirty minutes to walk there, so no time for dawdling!"

I nod and go up to my room. Someone, presumably my genius, impressive, sister, set out a blue shirt and denim shorts for me. Not that ain't care anymore.

I put my elbows on my knees and stare at the wall across from me. I'll just say it; I'm an outcast.

* * *

 **Luis Panelli, age 13**

There was once a time when I felt safe. Before I knew what disasters my life had in store for me.

I always knew that I would be entered in the reaping once I turned twelve. I wasn't stupid. I would only be entered once. We're relatively poor, but my older sisters would share the tesserae. The chances that I would get picked were at a bare minimum. I selfishly never considered the chances of my sisters getting picked.

I reach up and scratch my nose. It doesn't itch, but I do that to pass off the fact that I haven't been paying attention to a single thing the escort, Malay has said, or the film she just played.

Malay pulls off her gloves and dips her hand into the female's reaping bowl, as if having her gloves off will make a difference in who's picked.

After about a second, Malay find a the right name. She pulls it out of the bowl and clops over to the microphone, unfolding the name of the poor girl who's about to die.

"Congratualations...Pixel Wire!" Malay reads. She says it as if the girl did something extremely talented that earned her the spot as a tribute. Apparently Pixel notices this, too, because she jogs onto the stage and takes a sarcastic bow.

"And now," Malay says, eyeing Pixel with disbelief. "For the boys."

She digs her hand deep in the bowl, as if that will give her an interesting tribute. She brings out a name that has a corner torn off, from who knows what, and opens it.

"Luis Panelli!" Malay reads, pronouncing my name about as wrong as it gets. I growl under my breath. It's not like I care anymore.

"Come on, honey!" Malay motions for me to hurry up. I speed up my pace, even though I could have just as easily slowed down out of spite. Before I know it, I'm standing next to Pixel on the stage for children that are about to die. Malay says a couple other things, before she sends us to the room where future dead people get to say goodbye to their family.

My mind travels back to two years before, when my sister, Lydia, got reaped. She made it to day five, before getting killed by fire. I...have an insane fear of fire now.

However, my fear of fire fails in comparison to my fear of meeting my other sister again. She ran away when Lydia died, and fell right into the Capitol's hands.

All I know is that one month ago, Lilith became a gamemaker.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading and (hopefully) dropping a review. I'm so sorry for the insanely long wait, especially for the people who took the time to submit a tribute. I really have no excuse. I'll be better next time.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Here are my questions:**

 **Which tribute do you like more?**

 **Who do you think will last longer?**

 **How do you think Malay pronounced Luis's name?**

 **That's about it. Thanks for reading and happy early July 4th!**


	10. District 4 Reaping

**Selina Prats, age 17**

"Are you going to come to the reaping?" I asked my mom. It was a genuine question, without much hope or feeling at all.

"No," Mom said. "I'll be at home, doing stuff I want to do. It's not like you'll ever be a volunteer, anyway."

I stepped back, startled at her hostility, and tripped. I began to fall. I was about to hit the ground when my eyes snap open.

I peer out the window. Telling by the light, the time is around eight in the morning. There's no school today for me. I'm volunteering. And it's not like I'm afraid of the games. I'm not afraid of anything, and you remember that. I just don't feel like going to school.

I sit up and stretch. I've had the same dream ever since I was chosen to volunteer. Some way of saying ha! to my mom, except only in my head. I'm saving the real ha! for later. Mom still doesn't know I'm volunteering. It's going to be such a great surprise.

I pull my pajamas off and change into my reaping outfit. The actually reaping isn't until eleven, but I don't care if my clothes get dirty. I wrap my hair into a bun, shake my sisters awake, and go downstairs to make breakfast.

I find a breakfast of ham and toast already sitting at the table. My dad is leaning back in his favorite chair, reading a book, and my mom is pouring water into cups on the counter.

"What's going on?" I ask. Mom looks up.

"Oh, you're awake!' she says, smiling. "It's a big day today! Sit down, sit down. I made this breakfast just for you!"

"Mom, what is going on?" I ask more fiercely as she admires at my clothes.

"We should have gotten you a nice dress," Mom says. "It's a little too late now, I suppose? Oh well. I only heard a couple days ago. You should have told me yourself!"

"Told you what?" I ask harshly, sitting down at the table.

"That this is your last reaping, of course!" Mom says. I pause.

"Mom, this isn't my last reaping," I say. "I'm seventeen, not eighteen."

Mom drops the water jug, splashing water everywhere. "Are you not volunteering?"

"How do you know about that?" I ask.

"A boy from town told me," Mom says. "He was an awfully dirty boy, but I was still able to talk to him. He told me, rather sarcastically, that I must be so proud, and I asked him what he meant. He said my daughter was volunteering, and I said, 'which one? I have four of 'em. Only three in reaping age of course', and he replied with you!"

"Mom," I say, "who was this boy?"

"Jasper, I think his name was," Mom says.

Yeah, I know that guy.

* * *

 **Jasper Coffin, age 17**

I keep checking the clock tower. Is it time for the reaping yet? I have nothing better to do than just sit and wait.

Finally, at nine fifty, I get up and brush the soot of my pants. Already, people are pouring out of their houses and making their way to the reaping stage. All I have to do is follow the tide.

Walking to the reaping is harder for me than it should be. Sure, it's just was walking, but I also have to pass several unwanted things.

The first one is district four's community home. It's an oak wood six story building, with a total of two hundred beds. It's an abusive, terrible place. How do I know? I used to live there. The second one Mrs. Belgery's sandwich stand. That one I don't like to pass by because meeting face to face with Mrs. Belgery is the last thing I want to do right now. Her sandwiches are my main source of food, and long story short, I don't always pay for them.

The last thing is the bridge over the river.

I get to the reaping one minute before it's supposed to start, not that it will start in one minute, anyways. After a while, the victors are introduced. There are a lot of them. That sums it up.

Our escort, Billy, makes the opening speech for the mayor, who is apparently sick. I act like a normal human and instead of listening to everything he says, I watch a beetle crawl across the ground.

"...And as always, ladies first," Billy says. He digs around in the female's reaping bowl. "Our female tribute this year is... Janie Brown!"

"I volunteer!" a girl yells. Selina Prats. Of course. The last time I saw her do something memorable was when she jumped into a pool of rocks. I have no idea why. I think someone called her a coward or something.

Selina tells the escort her name, and he proceeds to draw the male's name. "And our male tribute is...Jasper Coffin!"

I feel...taken back.

A couple boys try to push me towards the front. By the time I reach the stage, I have come to the conclusion that no one is going to volunteer for me. I could swear there was a male volunteer...

Billy instructs us to shake hands. I notice Selina staring daggers at me.

It's going to be a long week.

* * *

 **All right guys! There are the district four tributes. Here are my questions:**

 **Which one do you like more?**

 **Who do you think will last longer?**

 **What do you think their deepest fear is?**

 **I'm going to Yellowstone tomorrow, and i'll be there for two weeks, so I won't be updating next week. I will have a chapter the week after that though (maybe a coupled days late).**

 **As always, thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!**

 **~Ginny**


	11. District 5 Reaping

**Ellia Jamson, age 15**

The first thing I see when I wake up is dirt. Everything around my house is dirt. Grass hasn't bothered to cover up our soil. I can't say I mind. Dirt never really changes. Sure, it gets wet and muddy, or rises around different objects, but it's always plain old dirt. It never changes color. It's one of the most trustworthy things that exists.

I get up and brush dust off my shorts. I don't remember falling asleep last night, but the fact that I woke up outside is no big surprise, neither is it a rare occurrence. Ever since the incident I've felt less and less safe around others, including my own family members. Nowadays I like to take refuge behind the old family shed.

Through the window I can see my sister. She gets up very early, every morning, doing things that are unknown to me. I may have been touched with curiosity before, but even if I spoke, I would never get the courage to ask Robin what she does every morning.

Today is reaping day, so staying outside isn't an option. My family's inside, waiting for me. I have no choice but to join them. My father greets me as I come inside. On the table is a burned waffle and a cup of cocoa. Robin gives me a strange look. I don't know her well enough to read the look, but I'm also not stupid enough to think it's a welcoming look. Saying I'm an outcast doesn't explain how distant I am from my family.

"I set out a reaping outfit in your room," Mom tells me. I nod stiffly and head downstairs. The floor is cold metal, and it stinks of rat droppings. I push open the door to my room. A layer of dust has settled on my bed, and on that us a turtleneck jumper.

I look at the scissors on my floor, debating whether or not I should cut the turtleneck off, in case it chokes me, but I decide to trust it.

I wait in my room until just fifteen minutes before the reaping. My family is gone when I go upstairs, and I couldn't care less. I walk to the reaping alone, arriving just before it starts. The mayor reads the five page treaty of treason, before our escort is allowed to continue the reaping. In my mind I imagine a scenario where I'm reaped. Would I feel anger? Hatred? Fear? I'm not sure.

"Ellia Jamson!" Mallory reads. And I'm still not sure what I feel.

* * *

 **Isaac Kellin, age 15**

Ellia makes her way up onto the stage, her face drained of emotions. But, unlike her, my emotions are going crazy. Why her? Why did it have to be her?

I doubt she even remembers me. When she looks back on the night that traumatized her, she'll remember my brother, not me. My brother, who has killed twenty nine civilians and almost her.

His name was Ryan. We were very close growing up, him being just one year older than I was. It wasn't until he was thirteen that everything started going bizarre with his head.

He always said thirteen was much too young to have romance, but it was obvious he had fallen head-over-heals for the mayor's daughter, Natalie. One day, she came over to our house, and I think he tried to rape her. I don't know if he actually did, but she fled the scene quickly, leaving Ryan in tears. The next day, Natalie visited the factory, looking to resolve things between Ryan and her. Ryan apologized for what he had done, and they were back together. But later that day, Natalie was hit by a truck and died. Ryan was never left the same.

A little over two years ago, he went outside at night, I don't know what he was planning on doing, but he found a girl and brought to near death.

"Isaac Kellin," Mallory says, jerking me back to the present. I start up the isle. Mallory gives me a huge, innocent smile as I board the stage. I don't see any recognition in Ellia's eyes. I don't really see much of anything.

We shake hands and part ways, going to be seen off. Ellia doesn't say anything. What if I was wrong about her? What if she wasn't the girl Ryan attacked?

I shake my head.

I know the girl was Ellia because I'm the one who saved her.

* * *

 **There are the tributes for district five! One of the WiFi cables broke in my house, so I wasn't able to upload for much longer than I said it would be. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!**

 **Who do you like more?**

 **Who do you think will last longer?**

 **Does Ellia remember Isaac?**

 **Thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing!**

 **~Ginny**


	12. District 6 Reaping

**Carter Jones, age 12**

"Carter," someone says, shaking my shoulder. "Carter, wake up."

"Buzz off," I mutter, keeping my eyes closed. "It's reaping day, Tom. Let me sleep."

"I did let you sleep!" Tom complains. "Mrs. Devon's going to kill me, Carter. Wake up!"

I groan and slowly open my eyes. "Why did Mrs. Devon let you in? She hates street boys."

"But she likes you, and you like me," Tom says, smirking as my cheeks turn a deep shade of red.

"I do not like you," I say ferociously. "And that does not answer my question."

"Fine," Tom says. "Mrs. Devon let me in because it's reaping day, and everyone is nice on reaping day. Now get up and help your mom get breakfast ready or she'll never let me in this orphanage again."

"She's not my mom," I say, but I stand up anyway and move to change into my reaping clothes. It's not like Mrs. Devon is making all the girls in her orphanage wear the same thing, anyway. I look back at Tom. "Are you going to keep standing there? Because don't expect me to take my clothes off while you're around."

"Geez. I'll get out of here, then," Tom says, brushing past me. "I'll meet you in town when your chores are done."

"Good," I say.

Tom doesn't disappoint. When I finish helping Mrs. Devon prepare and eat breakfast, she and I round up the younger kids at District 6's orphanage and head out the door for the reaping. Right away, I stray from the group to take a different route to the square. It's longer, but it avoids most peacekeepers. Plus, I know where Tom plans to meet me.

As I cross the bridge gapping the piece of land sporting the orphanage and other outliers, and the piece of land leading to town, I hear a hissing sound. I stop short, straightening my posture. "Tom?" No reply, just another hissing sound. "Tom, this isn't funny." The grass rattles off to my left, and I spin around. "Tom?!" I hear a another rattle. "Tom this isn't funny!" I scream.

"Sure it is."

I whip back around, and Tom's shaggy brown hair meets my face. "I will kill you!" I yell, aiming a punch at my friend's face. He catches my fist.

"No you won't," he says. "Let's get to the reaping."

I mumble that Tom is an idiot under my breath as we continue. He glances at me, but says nothing. When we arrive at the square, Mrs. Devon is already there. She ushers Tom and me to the back of the crowd, where the youngest possible tributes are standing.

"Don't be nervous," she tells me. "You'll be just fine."

I nod. Usually, in a time like this, I would make a humorous comment. The truth is, I'm all out of jokes. The reaping is about to start, and the fate of my life lies in one small slip of paper. I cross my fingers that it isn't my name on that paper.

"You okay, Carter?" Tom asks me.

"Fine," I say.

"Don't get reaped."

Thanks.

Our mayor reads the treaty of treason, and our escort, Francis, takes the stage to begin the reaping. I don't know when, but at some point I reach out for Tom's hand. He doesn't resist when I take it.

"As always," Francis says, "Ladies first." She wobbles over to the ladies' reaping bowl and plucks a name off the top. The crowd is so quite you could hear a pin drop. Francis hops back to her microphone and opens the slip of paper. My breath hitches in my throat. Beside me, Tom has screwed his eyes tightly shut.

"Carter Jones," Francis says.

For a split second, the world tilts backwards. I stumble, and Tom catches me.

"Carter," he whispers. "Carter, no."

I look around, desperate to see another girl with the same name, claiming it was she who was reaped. But all eyes are on me.

Slowly, I untangle myself from Tom's grip and emerge from the crowd. I can hear my heart thumping against my chest, so loud I'm surprised it hasn't burst through. For a second a peacekeeper starts forward as if to make me hurry up, but I do on my own. The world is is still spinning around me. By the time I mount the stage, Francis has already moved on to the boys' reaping bowl. For a split second, tears flood my eyes, but I hold them back. A while ago, I heard something, though I'm not sure from where.

You feel, you lose. That's what I heard.

I realize that I have nothing to lose.

* * *

 **Cooper Magstadt, age 18**

Everything in my life has been based around one idea: you feel, you lose.

It's what my grandfather would tell me before he died. He would tell me it day after day, night after night, until the words were engrained into my brain. He would sit me on his lap when I came home from school, crying because I missed my parents, and say the same words to me, over and over. "You feel, you lose. You feel, you lose. Don't feel, Cooper Magstadt." And then he would send me to bed without dinner.

I never really thought about my grandfather's words, until tragedy struck my family when I was ten. I was born as a twin, and my brother was my life, especially after our parents died. I loved, him so, so much, and when he died, too, I stopped thinking about what my grandfather had told me. Every day for weeks after that, I dragged my life around on a line behind me, wishing I could just let go and watch as it floated away. My sister would see me crying, her eyes hollow and devoid of hope. Once, I heard her muttering to herself, "you feel you lose, you feel you lose", and I knew my grandfather had been talking to her the same way he used to talk to me.

I once confronted my grandfather, asking him to stop filling my sister's head with such nonsense. He said, "I'll stop when you start making an income for this family." It's true that since the old man was the one who generated money, he should be the one who had authority. But I had barely turned eleven at the time, and no place in town would accept a worker so young, so it's not like I had much choice in the matter. Plus, I was the one who did all the at home work; taking care of my sister, cooking the meals, feeding the dog...I just felt that my grandfather should at least respect me.

The key word there is felt. After what happed on June 1st, I realize I'm glad he taught me to remain unemotional under pressure. I could never have coped without that skill.

I unwillingly let these events replay in my mind as I head towards the square for the reaping. It's a bright and sunny day outside, which doesn't seem quite right considering in just five minutes two teenagers are going to be sent to their deaths. I arrive at the square just on time, and a couple of peacekeepers usher me to the front of the crowd, where the oldest possible tributes are. I let them manhandle me, beyond caring at this point.

The victors, escort, and mayor enter the stage. The mayor reads from the treaty of treason, a practice that is beyond pointless now. Then our escort, Francis, steps up to the microphone and announces how excited she is to start the reaping.

 _Then start it,_ I think.

Francis hops over to the ladies' reaping bowl in her pointy shoes and picks a name off the top. My eyes scan the crowd of little kids for my sister, but I can't find her. "Carter Jones," Francis reads. I avert my eyes to the ground as a girl emerges from the crowd, very slowly as if in shock.

 _You feel, you lose,_ I think. _You feel, you lose._ Francis moves over to the boys' reaping bowl. Emotions rise in my throat. _Dammit, Cooper!_

"Our male tribute for this year will be..." Francis says, plucking a piece of paper from the top of many and opening it. "Cooper Magstadt!"

My mouth drops open a little, but I snap it shut. Oh the odds are most definitely not in my favor. _You feel, you lose,_ I remind myself again, stepping out of the crowd and walking towards the stage. _You feel, you lose._

I reach the stage and climb the steps leading onto it. Francis sets a palm on my back, delighted as ever. "Well, now," she says. "Shake."

My hand reaches forward, clasping the girl's smaller one in mine for just a moment.

I think again, _you feel, you lose._

I have nothing to lose.

* * *

 **I'm back, and it's been over eight months. Eight months when I could have been writing, eight months when I thought, "Naa, I'll do it later". And now later has come, and I have finally uploaded a new chapter. And I can't say how sorry I am, especially to those who submitted tributes. I'd like to especially thank Fire and Starlight, who sent me a PM in late February that eventually inspired me to continue this fanfiction.**

 **A lot can happen in eight months, especially when one's young and growing. Over the year I have started to take my English classes a little more seriously, and have started actually thinking about and developing my writing. In a lot of ways, I'm glad that I took such a long break that allowed me to take a step back and think. While I am truly sorry to those of you who kept kept checking on this story, hoping I had updated and coming back disappointed, I also think these eight months can bring a new dimension to my writing. I won't have flawless works (in fact, my writing style will likely remain quite similar to what it used to be), but I plan on spending more time developing characters and themes than originally. I know that can't make up for the time I missed, but hopefully the break I took won't go entirely to waste.**

 **I think one of the biggest reasons I stopped uploading chapters for so long is because fanfiction started to mean nothing to me. It won't affect my future, right? I can't put "author of fanfiction" on my resume and expect to get a job. But that's true with a lot of things. Why do I swim? Why do I play violin? Why do I audition for plays? I don't expect to go to the professional level with any of these. The truth is, I do them because I enjoy them. While it may not directly impact what college I get into or what job I get, fanfiction is a pastime I have come to like. Sometimes real books just can't compensate for the light a juvenile writer can bring to this world.**

 **The last reason was pressure to upload on time, but I don't think I need to go too into detail with that. Everyone who reads my writing is nice, and they know that education comes before fanfiction. If one week I can't update, just know that I will update soon, and I won't abandon my story. I plan on getting the reapings out of the way (the by default most boring, yet most necessary, part of the story) first, and then things will get more interesting. Let me know what you thought of these tributes.**

 **Thank you to everyone who never gave up on me,**

 **~Ginny**


	13. Capitol Glimpse

**Hero Jacks, Head Mutation Gamemaker**

I stride down the hall, my pace brisk enough to satisfy my beating heart, yet slow enough to not accumulate suspicion. Though it's well past midnight and the sky is dark outside, many gamemakers are still up and about, working as hard as they can. It's crunch time for us; the tributes have already been reaped, and we aren't even close to done with the arena.

I turn a corner at the end of the hall, going to where the gamemakers' headquarters are. I stop in front of the third door on the right and knock. No reply. I knock again. "Lilith Panelli, it's your boss, Hero Jacks." Still no reply. "Lilith Panelli, please open up." A groggy reply comes from inside, and the doorknob turns. I step back to let it swing open, waiting for Lilith to emerge. She does not. Instead, Daphne Mellard stands in the doorway, bright and cheery with bags under her eyes.

"Hero Jacks," she says, sighing deeply. "Of course. Who else would come banging on my door at a quarter past midnight?"

"Is Lilith not in there?" I ask, taking a step forward. Daphne puts a hand out to stop me.

"For the love, Hero," she says. "Lilith is a teenage girl. Let her sleep. Surely this is something you can address tomorrow?"

"Not unless I want her to die at the hands of Snow himself," I say, before glancing around warily to make sure no one's watching. Even at this time of night, you can never be sure.

"What on Earth, Hero? What are you talking about?" Daphne presses. I close my eyes and exhale.

"Just let me see the girl," I say, opening my eyes again. "Please."

There's a minute of silence. I count the seconds, fully aware that every moment we waste is another moment drawing Lilith closer to her possible death. Finally, Daphne steps aside, leaving the doorway open.

"Fine," she says. "In you go."

I don't even stop to say thank you before rushing past her and into the room. Each gamemaker's room has four beds, but only three of them are occupied in Daphne and Lilith's case. I know their other roommate, Alexa Grant, is working her butt off with the arena, and Daphne has never been the kind of person to eavesdrop. This insures that my conversation with Lilith will be as private as is possible in a place like this.

I, unlike Daphne, am the curious type of person, and tend to dig into people's pasts and personal lives more than I would like to admit. Lilith had always been a mystery to me, but she was so young and tender, I had to resist the urge to pry her open like an old toolbox. After this year's reaping however, I put the pieces together on my own without meaning to, and I realized I needed to take action. So now that's what I'm doing. Taking action.

Lilith is wrapped in a cocoon of heavy blankets, her head facing away from me on the bottom left bunk in her room. Again, I stop for a moment to gather my thoughts, before proceeding forward. "Lilith," I mutter quietly, setting my hands on the sleeping girl's shoulders. She jerks violently, but doesn't wake up. "Lilith, it's your boss, Hero Jacks."

"Mr. Jacks?" Lilith mutters, opening her eyes. "Mr. Jacks, what are you doing here?"

"Were you having a nightmare?" I ask suspiciously, eyeing her tears.

"No," Lilith says, quickly rubbing away the water from her beet red cheeks and confirming my worst fears.

"You were dreaming about him, weren't you?" I say. Lilith stares at me blankly.

"Mr. Jacks," she finally says, "perhaps you should come back later. I'm not in my best state right now."

"We don't have the luxury of later," I say, not as calmly as I would have liked to. "Just tell me the truth: is the district three male tribute, Luis Panelli, your brother?"

"No," Lilith says, a little too fast.

"Lilith, please," I say. "You showed up in the Capitol a few months ago, homeless and without signs of any previous family. Your name is as un-Capitol as it can be, last name included. If President Snow hasn't connected the pieces yet, he will soon. I beg you to be honest with me."

Lilith stares at me. I count the seconds again, an old habit of mine. _1...2...3...4..._ Finally, the girl breaks, and I thank the gods that I'm so trusted among my employees.

"Yes," she says, burying her face in her lap so I can barely hear her. "Yes, he his. Oh, Mr. Jacks, I don't know what to do! I ran away from home to escape pain, and now I have to watch my brother go through the games?! President Snow must already know. He must know that I'm an imposter. He'll be coming for me any minute!" She looks back up at me, her cheeks stained with tears again. "Are you going to help me?"

"That's what I've come to do," I say, before leaning forward and whispering into Lilith's ear. I tell her everything I know about what has and what will happen, revealing everything to her and hoping that she is desperate enough to survive. Then I pull back, and look the young girl in the eyes. "It's time to make things right again."

* * *

 **Since we're halfway through the reaping, I have added in this little scene that I promise will have lots of significance later on. Up next is District 7. Thanks for reading!**

 **~Ginny**


End file.
